


liebesleid, liebesfreud

by rire



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rire/pseuds/rire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi Seijuurou has lived twenty-five years without making a mistake. He could easily have gone on living that way, if it weren’t for that one night when he got a taste of both love’s joy and love’s sorrow, one of which was transitory and one of which was everlasting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	liebesleid, liebesfreud

**Author's Note:**

> For Akakuro Week 2015 - Day 7 (Alternate Universe).
> 
> Also for Amber, to whom I promised to write KuroAka. I'm sorry this took ages to write, but I hope you enjoy it!

Akashi Seijuurou has lived twenty-five years without making a mistake. The thing is, he could easily have gone on living that way. He could easily have inherited his father’s company and his riches, could easily have married the girl his father intended, could easily have built a relationship not of love but of trust and he could very easily have been content with that, for he had, up until that point, known neither love’s joy nor love’s sorrow.

Yes, he could have gone on living the life carved out for him, if it weren’t for that one night when he got a taste of both love’s joy and love’s sorrow, one of which was transitory and one of which was everlasting. ~~~~

\---

 

The moonlight is dim, casting through the curtains with an ethereal glow, bathing the wooden walls and furniture in pale light. Two or three customers are dispersed throughout the room, and a solitary piano sits in the corner. Akashi sits, legs crossed, on the wooden stool and leans his elbows against the counter as he waits for his drink. The bartender, Nijimura, brings him his drink, eyeing him suspiciously with a slight scowl. It’s the kind of permanent scowl that means no harm, but that just doesn’t go away.

“Something on your mind?” Nijimura asks.

Akashi takes the drink and looks down at his left hand cupped around the glass, at the glinting metal band around his middle finger. He thinks of the girl, her plain brown hair and the hard look in her eyes despite her counterfeit friendliness.

“No,” Akashi lies. Nijimura stares at him for a while longer, but doesn’t press.

Akashi sips his drink thoughtfully. It’s sour, just a little bitter, spreading a pleasant warmth through his lungs. He has never drunk more than a glass in his life, and only during dinners with important businessmen. He glances along the walls at the many, many bottles of expensive wine and thinks that perhaps he will treat himself today. He finishes the drink, orders two more, and by the time he is done there is a buzz of warmth running through his skin, a blanket over his thoughts.

It is then that he hears the song.

The music had not been playing in the background upon Akashi’s arrival, but had only started now. It is pleasant, tranquil, feather-light, but at the same time, it is sorrowful. Akashi feels soft fingers caressing his heart lightly, as if it would break. At the same time, he recognizes the melody from somewhere deep within, and his eyes widen. He turns his head and sees a slender, blue-haired boy seated at the piano.

It’s as if an invisible thread is pulling him out of his seat and closer to the boy. Close up, the boy’s hands are small for a pianist, but his fingers handle each note with care, caressing the keys with such sheer adoration and respect for the tune that Akashi’s breath hitches in his throat. His eyes are closed, and he leans his body in, bowing his head as his fingers prance over the notes.

He tosses his head back as he reaches a crescendo, slamming his fingers onto the keys with surprising force for his diminutive stature. He opens his eyes, then, and for a moment, they widen. It is then that Akashi notices he has been staring.

The boy holds his gaze, eyes blue like the sky after the rain. Then Akashi wavers, looking away briefly. When he looks back, the boy’s eyes are closed again as he throws himself back into the music.

Akashi is transfixed, rooted to the spot. He can feel his heart rising and falling with every note, and when the song is over, he yearns for more.

But the boy is already getting up, crossing the short distance between them so they are now standing face to face.

“Love’s Sorrow,” Akashi says. “Fritz Kreisler.”

The boy smiles, soft and warm. “It must be a special song for you.”

Akashi blinks, taken aback. “What makes you think that?”

The boy bows his head briefly, then looks back up again. “I’m sorry for the assumption. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something in your eyes that told me.”

There’s something in _his_ eyes, on the contrary, that Akashi cannot quite read. His gaze looks clouded, almost melancholy, and yet hopeful.

“It is a special song for you too,” Akashi points out.

The boy chuckles softly at that. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, it is. You are quite good at reading people.”

“I would say the same for you,” Akashi replies. The boy smiles at him, and he feels somewhat exhilarated, and he doesn’t know why. It must be the alcohol.

“What’s your name?” the boy asks.

“Akashi Seijuurou.”

“Kuroko Tetsuya,” the boy—Kuroko—says, extending a hand. Akashi shakes it, pleasantly surprised that Kuroko had not reacted to the mention of Akashi’s family name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Akashi says. “Do you work here, by any chance?” Akashi has been here several times before, and he has never seen Kuroko nor heard his piano music.

Kuroko shakes his head. “No. I’m a friend of Nijimura-san’s. I simply came to visit for the summer.”

“I see. You play beautifully,” Akashi admits, even though beautiful isn’t quite the word. No word quite does Kuroko’s music justice. “I’m surprised you aren’t world famous.”

Kuroko ducks his head shyly. “Thank you, Akashi-kun. I’m flattered. However, I am not a fan of fame and the things associated with it.”

There’s something a little sad about the way he utters those words, but Akashi doesn’t pry. Instead, he gestures to the bar, asking a question with his eyes. Kuroko nods and follows. They sit together and make small talk as they wait for Nijimura to make Kuroko’s vanilla milkshake. It is apparently an ordinary thing for Kuroko to order one, because Nijimura doesn’t even question it. Akashi learns that Kuroko lives in Kyoto, that he and Nijimura were middle-school classmates, and that Kuroko is, like himself, surprisingly reserved when it comes to giving out information. All the better, though, for he doesn’t acquire after or seem to care for Akashi’s high social status.

Nijimura finishes the milkshake and hands it over. “Would you like to try?” Kuroko offers, holding the straw to Akashi. Out of curiosity, he obliges, and realizes there is alcohol in it. Still, it tastes a little too sweet for Akashi’s liking, and he says as much.

“It is,” Kuroko agrees, “but I like sweet things. I don’t see a point in dwelling on the bitter.”

That makes sense, Akashi supposes, but he’s never had a sweet tooth, so he doesn’t understand. Nothing is really sweet to him, just like nothing is quite bitter either. His emotions reside in a sea of impartiality, and that’s the way it has always been. He sips at his fourth drink and wonders briefly how many it would take for the lights above him to start spinning. Of course, he can’t entertain these kinds of thoughts.

At some point, the customers head out, and Nijimura leaves to head upstairs, handing Kuroko the keys to close up shop. It is then that Kuroko speaks up, catching Akashi by surprise. “If you need anyone to talk to, I would gladly listen.”

Akashi looks down at his now empty glass. He wishes he could, wishes he knew just how to phrase the thoughts swimming inside his mind and how to lift heavy weight in his chest. Being with Kuroko seems to have lifted it a little, enough for him to try.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” he asks.

Kuroko looks pensive for a moment, and then he nods. “I do,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

Akashi looks down at his left hand. The metal glints mockingly at him. “I don’t,” he says. “Even if they did exist, I know that I will never find mine.”

A hand covers his, bathing him with warmth. Kuroko’s smile is gentle. “I don’t think you should give up hope so easily,” he says. “You should be the person that you want to be, and find the person you want to find.” He pauses, looking down. “Or at least, that is what I would like to say. I’m afraid I don’t know enough about your situation to be able to pass judgment.”

“My father arranged the wedding,” Akashi confides. “She is the successor of a wealthy company. The wedding would— _will_ —be very beneficial to our conglomerate. Whether or not she is my soulmate, I am ultimately anchored to her, and to my father’s intentions.” As he speaks, Akashi feels as if he is scraping off some residue from the bottom of his heart.

Kuroko touches the ring lightly, his touch sending shivers along Akashi’s skin. “There is no point,” Kuroko says slowly, “in anchoring a vessel already lost at sea.”

Akashi looks into Kuroko’s eyes, and for one terrifying moment he thinks he sees the ocean. He finds that he cannot withdraw his hand, so he shifts the topic to Kuroko instead, a futile mechanism of self-defense.

“You seem to have taken a liking to Love’s Sorrow,” Akashi notes casually. “Is there a reason you chose this song instead of Love’s Joy?” It was the companion piece, and the two were often played hand in hand, a duet with violin and piano. Akashi would know.

Kuroko lets out a breath. “There was a boy, once, who shone bright as the stars,” Kuroko says, looking up as if he could see this star in his mind’s eye. “Not just to me, but to the world. He was the most talented violinist of the generation. I was his accompanist, and this was the first song we played together.”

It clicks into place in Akashi’s mind. He knows the boy Kuroko speaks of. He was well-renowned in the musical world, praised as a prodigy, a miracle, even. Aomine Daiki, his name was. Akashi used to think they would have been worthy rivals had Akashi himself continued to pursue the path of a musician.

“He shone too brightly that he burnt out. Stars do that sometimes,” Kuroko says a little sadly, but when Akashi looks closely he sees that Kuroko has not yet burnt out. “He was too good that he stopped following the score. I loved the way his emotions rang true, but they were too much for the judges. Eventually he stopped playing, and we lost touch. I play this song alone, but it is not a bad thing. I have learned to make it my own.”

“Is that why you only play Love’s Sorrow and not Love’s Joy?”

Kuroko chuckles and sips his drink. “I have never played Love’s Joy,” he says. “It would take a while for me to learn it.”

Neither had Akashi. “Would you, if you had the chance?”

Kuroko nods. “If I had the chance. What about you? Forgive the assumption, again, but you seem to be speaking from experience.”

Akashi smiles and leans back a little in his chair. “I played violin when I was young, as per my mother’s wishes. Love’s Sorrow was one of her favourites. Ironically, she passed when I was ten. The instrument reminded my father of her, so he had me quit.”

Kuroko tilts his head in understanding, and then suddenly, he gets up. “Would you do me a favour?”

Akashi furrows his eyebrows. “What is it?”

Kuroko hops off the stool and heads down a hallway to a door. Akashi follows, curious. “There is a spare violin in the storage,” Kuroko says. He turns the key in the lock and presents Akashi with a dusty storage room containing several boxes full of music sheets, a music stand, and a battered violin case. He rummages through the boxes, emerges with a book of sheet music, picks up the violin case and hands them to Akashi.

“Play with me.”

The confidence with which Kuroko makes the offer enthralls Akashi. Not only does Kuroko manage to dig up Akashi’s deepest wishes, but he knows, without a doubt, that Akashi will give in.

A smile spreads across his face. He takes the case and the music sheet. _Love’s Sorrow – Fritz Kreisler,_ the title reads, but Akashi knew it already.

“I haven’t played in fifteen years,” he tells Kuroko. “Please go easy on me.”

They head back to where the piano is. It takes Akashi a while to get set up, to remember the familiar feeling of the wood resting against his chin and the bow in his hand. The first warm-up notes he plays are grotesque, but Kuroko doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make a sound.

“I think I’ve got the hang of it,” Akashi says after a while. He doesn’t. But somehow, he doesn’t think he will mind making a mistake here.

Kuroko positions his fingers above the keys, Akashi positions his bow above the strings, and they begin.

It is the first and last time they perform Love’s Sorrow together, just before midnight, with an in-tune piano and an out-of-tune violin. There are precisely two-and-a-half listeners—Kuroko, Akashi, and a half-asleep Nijimura lying in his bed on the third floor. And it is absolutely spectacular. Even though Akashi fumbles and stumbles, Kuroko waits for him to catch up. By the end they are in perfect harmony, the notes so tangible in the air, stirring something Akashi didn’t know resided in his heart.

When they finish the song, the music doesn’t disappear. The emotions hang in the air like clouds above them. Akashi almost wants to pluck one out of the air and tuck it away in his pocket, but he can’t. Instead, he looks over at Kuroko, registers the smile on his face and the stars in his eyes. He takes that look and tucks it away in his memories.

“You play beautifully, Akashi-kun,” Kuroko remarks. Akashi doesn’t bother saying that it is really the other way around. “To have stopped for fifteen years and be able to pick it up this quickly, and still play it as if it were your own, is an amazing feat.”

“I slipped up on many occasions,” Akashi replies.

“It doesn’t matter. Music is an incredible language,” Kuroko responds, “and I think that what you have to say is beautiful.”

Akashi bows his head a little, feeling uncharacteristically shy. A finger brushes against his chin and tilts his face up. Kuroko’s gaze on his is so intense that his head spins rapidly, and he grips the edge of the piano for balance.

It is a smart move on his behalf, for in the next split-second Kuroko brings their faces together and their lips meet.

Kuroko feels soft and warm and tastes like vanilla, so sweet Akashi feels dizzy. His fingers curl into Akashi’s hair, keeping him there—Akashi wraps his arms around Kuroko’s waist, holding on and soaking in the feeling.

It’s too much.

Akashi pulls away reluctantly and trails his gaze downwards. He can’t stay. The light catches on his watch and alerts him that it is now midnight. He can’t stay. He has work in seven hours. He can’t stay.

Kuroko casually tilts his head towards the window, and Akashi’s gaze follows. Rain pours down in sheets, battering against the windowpane, fluttering the curtains with the sheer force and Akashi wonders how he had failed to notice before. Perhaps he had mistaken the sound for his own heartbeat.

“You can stay until the storm passes,” Kuroko offers. “My room is just upstairs.”

For once in his life, Akashi cannot tell if he is overthinking things or if Kuroko is really implying what he thinks, what he hopes. He knows this—that he cannot permit himself to stay long enough to find out.

“I really can’t stay,” Akashi murmurs.

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” Kuroko says slowly, and Akashi flinches. “I assure you they are two separate things.”

And oh, Akashi _wants_ so badly, wants to unanchor himself and set sail, wants Kuroko, wants all of him.

This is where he makes the first in a series of mistakes—he takes Kuroko by the hand and tugs.

They head upstairs, treading carefully so that the steps don’t creak, and in the dark they stumble into Kuroko’s room and fall onto the bed.

A sliver of moonlight cuts in through the half-open curtains, illuminates a streak across Kuroko’s face. It looks as if he is glowing. He reaches for the bedside table and tugs on the lamp—dull, soft light spreads across the room then, and Akashi catches sight of a rosy blush across Kuroko’s cheeks.

Kuroko leans in and kisses him again, hungrier this time, as if he means to drink Akashi in, and Akashi lets him, his mouth falling open and his eyes falling closed. Kuroko unbuttons his shirt, trails his lips down Akashi’s chest and presses a constellation of kisses all over him. Akashi bites down a whimper as Kuroko unzips his pants and pulls them down with his boxers. Heat crawls up his neck and onto his face and he brings a hand up instinctively. Kuroko circles his fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand away.

“You look gorgeous like this,” he says, fingers dancing up Akashi’s thighs teasingly slow, and Akashi lets out a weak gasp when Kuroko’s hand finally circles his cock and strokes.

Heat pools in the pit of Akashi’s stomach as Kuroko works him deftly, never once taking his eyes off of him—only briefly, to dig out a bottle from his bedside drawer. Akashi curls his fingers in the sheets and throws his head back, so dizzy with the pleasure he feels like he might burst.

Kuroko slips in another finger, curls them, and sparks shoot through Akashi’s body as he arches his back and curls his toes.

“Oh,” he gasps. Kuroko does it again and he trembles, gripping a hand around Kuroko’s arm.

“Please,” he breathes. “Please—I want you.”

“Akashi-kun,” Kuroko groans, voice ragged and desperate, as he pushes inside, _finally,_ and Akashi feels full to the brim. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the sensation, the staccato moans that fill the room, the sweet friction and the passionate kisses Kuroko leaves on his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. The tightness of Kuroko’s fingers intertwined with his throughout makes his heart clench.

It doesn’t take long for Akashi to give himself over to the pleasure, and he comes apart with a cry in Kuroko’s arms. Kuroko surrenders his composure as well, rocking with an erratic rhythm into Akashi until he lets go, coming inside of Akashi with a choked moan that sounds like music to his ears.

Afterwards, they lie together, sated and satisfied. Kuroko traces the lines of Akashi’s back, Akashi counts the stars in Kuroko’s eyes and memorizes the texture of his hair beneath his fingers and gets drunk on his presence. Drunk enough to open his mouth and speak without prior thought.

He pulls Kuroko close, tangles their limbs together, and bares his heart with a whisper into Kuroko’s shoulder, “When I said I didn’t believe in soulmates, I lied.”

Kuroko’s hand freezes on Akashi’s back. The heavy silence tears through every sinew of Akashi’s being. But Kuroko says nothing. There is nothing he can say that Akashi doesn’t already know.

Something wet stains Akashi’s neck, and Kuroko lifts a hand to wipe at his face, but holds on ever tighter to Akashi with his other arm.

Akashi closes his eyes, lets the exhaustion ebb away the pain, and lets the darkness lull him into sleep.

 

\---

 

That was where his second mistake was made.

In the morning he wakes up, the taste of vanilla on his lips. The space next to him is cold and empty.

His throat goes dry and the taste in his mouth turns bitter.

He sits up straight, eyes darting around the room. Not a single belonging, not a single hint of Kuroko’s existence remains.

He stumbles out of bed, head spinning as nausea washes over him. Dazed, he pulls on his clothes and staggers out the door and sees no blue but the white walls. He clings to the wall for support, but it offers him none when he stands on shaky legs, and he slides onto the floor anyways.

His hands clench into fists. A drop of something wet falls from his eyes and stains the metal ring on his left hand. The sight of it makes him so sick he wants to throw up, and so, finally, he rips it off and tosses it on the ground.

Out the corner of his blurring vision, he sees Nijimura. Something touches his arm, hauls him up, props him upright against the wall.

“I don’t know where he is,” Nijimura says gently. “But he can’t be far gone. The question is, will you look for him?”

As he glances at the ring lying on the wooden floor and feels himself drifting, Akashi finally knows the answer.

He gets to his feet and runs.

 

\---

 

Akashi Seijuurou has lived twenty-five years without making a mistake, and so it only makes sense that it takes but a day for him to catch up on a lifetime’s worth of mistakes.

A series of mistakes are made that day, all of which headline the newspapers:

He calls off the wedding. The girl doesn’t cry, but her family does.

He quits his job. His subordinates won’t miss him.

He has a very one-sided discussion with his father, in which heated, angry words bounce off the walls of his father’s office. The words do not mean anything to him, because he has already decided.

And lastly, he packs up his bags and leaves.

He doesn’t know where he is headed. But he knows, now, love’s joy and love’s sorrow, and that alone is enough to keep his feet going down the road.

So really, when he sits down and thinks—really thinks—he realizes that none of these were mistakes, but rather, steps in a necessary journey.

 

\---

 

Akashi puts down his case and sets up his instrument on the corner of a quiet street. With a flourish, he positions his bow above the strings, and then he plays.

He only ever plays one song, but it is enough to garner the hearts of the passersby. They applaud wholeheartedly and toss money into his empty case, coins clinking pleasantly, but at the end of the day he sprinkles the coins into a donation box, because he doesn’t need it. Minus his inheritance, he has earned enough money in the short period of time working for his father to live comfortably for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t play for the money, anyways. He plays to touch hearts, not just others but his own, to dig deep inside himself and rekindle that blue fire he never wants to lose even if he may have lost its source.

Sometimes, as he travels, he catches a flash of blue or the scent of vanilla. And always, he looks around, but never does he find what he is looking for.

Until one day, when he strolls past the beach miles and miles away from home, and hears a strikingly familiar melody.

His legs move of their own accord, drawn in by the sound. He holds his breath when he discovers how transformed the once familiar tune has become. It is no longer feather-light, but heavy with longing and yearning. He no longer feels soft fingers caressing his heart, but rather hands digging in and squeezing tightly, knowing they would break such a fragile thing, but still wanting to hold on. He hears, in the notes, the sounds of glass shattering and of stars that have nearly burnt out.

Nearly, but not quite.

A slender, blue-haired boy seated at the piano. His eyes are closed, and so Akashi takes light, silent steps towards him and stands vigil until the song is over.

When it ends, and Kuroko turns, Akashi simply extends his hand. He watches Kuroko intently as his eyes grow impossibly wide. He catches the moment when Kuroko sees the absence of a metal band around his left middle finger and his mouth drops open.

“You play beautifully,” Akashi says softly. “Do you take requests?”

There are tears in Kuroko’s eyes. His mouth hangs half-open in disbelief, but he responds, “What would you like me to play?”

“Love’s Joy,” Akashi says.

A smile splits Kuroko’s face. “I’m afraid I have never played it before.”

“That’s fine,” Akashi says. “Neither have I.”

Kuroko takes his hand, and the blue fire inside of Akashi grows until it consumes him. But this time, he is not afraid.

 

\---

 

It takes them three weeks to learn Love’s Joy. The first, but not the last time they perform it together is at dawn, by the sea on a portable keyboard and an old violin, the soft rays of a rising sun casting a glowing light on them both. There are precisely two listeners—Kuroko and Akashi, two people discovering the tune for the first time. ~~~~

And it is absolutely spectacular.


End file.
